


Do you know?

by phrynne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Dom/sub Undertones, Drabble, Falling In Love, Feelings, Getting Together, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV First Person, POV Harry Potter, Pining Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 08:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15681858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phrynne/pseuds/phrynne
Summary: I'm afraid that if he touches me again he'll know, there's no way he doesn’t know, not with the way I look at him, not with the way I keep saying 'yes, yes, yes' everytime, not with the way my body just bolts to life around him, not with the way I keep silent or make a list of safe things to say, innocuous, non-life-shattering things and I’ve become so good at this, so good - does he know?





	Do you know?

**Author's Note:**

> Looks like I'm back with a drabble? As usual, I'd love to read your thoughts on this :)

It starts with the way he doesn't ever say it. There's a pause, barely a split second, in which I catch a glimpse of what we could be. It's all in the way he tries not to smile at me. All in the way he turns his face away from me, all in the way he pulls a strand of his hair back, behind his ear, and then his arm stretches, his hand catches his trousers lying on the floor, and the moment is over.

I lie in bed, rumpled sheets, my body still aching, yearning (sated, and at the same time it’s not enough, it's never enough), and I watch him get dressed. He leans over, bracing against the headboard (the same headboard where I held on while he was inside me, barely an hour ago, but too long ago) and it's insanity that I think he's going to kiss my cheek goodbye. 'Later' he says and grabs his wand from the nightstand and then he's out the door, he's downstairs and he's at my Floo and I don't hear his voice but know he's gone. 

Three years of this, and every time I feel closer and closer to the words that will end it. And it's not when you might think. It's not when I'm about to come, or when he hurts me just the right way, it's not when he holds me down with that smile of his. The words almost come when we meet for coffee the next morning, before work. They are almost out when he sits across from me on the sofa, at the Weasley's, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. They were nearly on my lips that time I almost died again, but he was fast with his shield, and not as fast hiding the horror-struck look he gave me, not as fast biting on his tongue before saying: ‘fucking stupid bastard’, voice trembling, not as fast stalking away in a fury of robes and magic. I brooded on those words, the ones I didn't speak, all that next week - for his part, he decided to spend it not talking to me. When he did again, he had me against the door of his apartment, and I think his words were 'shut it', then 'suck me' which I did, taking my time, taking him in, instead of speaking. 

From that day on, it became worse. I let him fill me and try to keep the words down. I'm trying so hard, he has no idea how hard it's been, like gathering up a storm in your chest and keep it tight and ordered and contained. It's all there, under my skin, I'm afraid that if he touches me again he'll know, there's no way he doesn’t know, not with the way I look at him, not with the way I keep saying 'yes, yes, yes' everytime, not with the way my body just bolts to life around him, not with the way I keep silent or make a list of safe things to say, innocuous, non-life-shattering things and I’ve become so good at this, so good - does he know?

‘Do you know?’ 

I end up asking exactly this the next time we see each other and the timing is completely wrong, so out of the blue, but not really. We’re at my place, we’re both sober for once and he is about to take my jacket off, he’s breathless, he has that look about him, the one that says he has only one thought and that thought is me, naked, begging him, me on my knees, me on my back, me panting, and my cock hard for him, and neglected, me desperate for anything he might give me, me speaking his name in a way I’m only allowed in bed, which is soft and fragile, ‘Draco’, I always say and his hands cradle my face and he kisses me so tenderly that I nearly believe, but now he’s stopping dead, and my chest hurts and I try to kiss him back to what we were doing, but I messed up, I messed up badly because he won’t let me, his hand on my chest pushes me back. ‘What?’ he bites out, his word lashing out too loud, slapping me in the face, and I want to say ‘nothing’, I want to say playfully ‘do you know how hard I am for you’, but my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and he’s stepping back, building up space between us and he hates me for this, he hates what I’m trying to do and the fact that I’m not answering him tells him everything. 

‘I’m falling for you,’ I say, my mouth forming the words with a voice that’s not mine at all, rough and broken and when the words are finally out there between us I realise just how big a mistake they were. 

Draco gives a wry laugh. For a whole minute, he can’t look away from me. He’s been struck in place by my words. I thought that when I did say it, everything else would come blurting out, but I realise I can’t speak. I have nothing else to say. And then he’s laughing. He doubles over with the force of it, a hand on his face, the other one on the wall, white on white, and he laughs and it’s a force of nature this laugh, it’s a sentient being taking over him, an unstoppable force, he shakes with it, he fights to breathe, and he has to lean against the wall, his legs tremble and I can’t watch it anymore. It’s 4 in the morning, this is my house, I have nowhere to go, but I pick up my wand and Disapparate with his laugh ringing loud in my ears, in my throat. 

I don’t go back to my house for three days. I don’t show up at work. I don’t tell anyone where I am. Still, he finds me, no surprise. 

‘I see you’ve stopped laughing,’ I say to his face, my voice a dead thing, and then I turn around and keep walking like I’m going somewhere. I have no idea what I’m doing. 

‘Harry,’ he says. It’s all it takes for me to stop, because of course he never said it before, not in bed, not ever. He walks over and I realise this is it: we’re doing it here, in this busy street, it’ll be over soon. 

‘I know there’s this thing we don’t talk about,’ he says. He looks tired, his hair tousled, like he just woke up, or better yet like he hasn’t slept in three days. I stick my hands in my pockets, suddenly cold. I just want him to get it over with. ‘I’m sorry I laughed.’ He looks away from me, watches the pavement for a moment. And now he’s really looking at me and he never did it this way. Solemn. 

‘I do know it,’ he says. I get the feeling these are words he has carefully picked up to use in this precise moment. I can almost see him choosing them from among a sea of other possible ones, turning them over and over in his head, in frantic sleepless nights. The idea of him alone in his bedroom, choosing the words to tell me, losing sleep, losing his mind over me, is so damn impossible, but so real, it snatches at the bundle of storm in my chest. I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t speak. 

But he’s not done, yet. He is standing there, breathing slow, gathering up courage, but to say what? He’d never… 

‘I fell for you a long time ago,’ he says it like it’s obvious, a statement about the weather. ‘It’s not a big deal,’ he adds.  

These words catch me unaware, the storm flares up and it’s so strong I close my eyes. When I open them, he looks defensive. His eyes are cold, daring me to say anything, daring me… I’m laughing before I know it; it shatters from me in a burst, my eyes water, and then I’m pulling him closer, he’s mad, he’s so mad that I’m laughing too, after the shit I gave him, he pretends to push me away, he turns his face from me and I kiss his cheek, his jaw, his neck and I don’t know if he realises this, but his arms are around me, and he’s saying things, things that make no sense, that he knew it would be like this, that’s why he didn’t want to say anything, and would we be walking around holding hands like teenagers and all that bullshit, but I kiss him into silence, kiss him into the wall, with people walking past us, with my words now coming free and unbidden, I love you, I love you, I love you. 

**Author's Note:**

> Written while listening to «Don't Believe a Word», by Octavia Sperati. Thank you for reading :) If you liked my writing and want to support my work, here's my Ko-fi page: http://ko-fi.com/phrynne


End file.
